


My Forever Lad.

by soennavind



Series: Chronicle of a Life Untold [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Character Study, M/M, and sarah Knows, where they are each the other's forever lad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-31
Updated: 2017-05-31
Packaged: 2018-11-07 09:10:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11055852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soennavind/pseuds/soennavind
Summary: James really was the friend Steve deserved.





	My Forever Lad.

Sarah was sitting in what used to be Joseph's chair, staring out to the empty street below, her head lost amongst the black boys playing in puddles and rope-skipping girls.

She missed Joseph, just then. 

Usually, his absence was nothing more than an ache in her sorry heart, a dulled little nag; but that day she burned for him. 

She wanted his laugh, his hair, his voice. She wanted him around her, and felt the gap in the air that his body would have occupied like a forever-echoing sigh.

"My forever lass" had been his nickname for her growing up, and not a soul in Cork could escape his playful name-calling. Day in, day out, they were with each other, around each other - like the tide, like the seasons. She spent summers lazing by the ocean, wind tussling her long, long hair as Joseph chatted in his steady Irish cadence. Winters she spent pacing between the town and the farm, apples and fresh fish in hand. Spring she spent watching Joseph help his father plough the furrows and drive the horses with that particular determination he had in him. She'd wanted to join him, but the dress she wore from day to day was her late mother's last gift to her and she could not afford to dirty it, lest risk the ire of her grandmother.

Joseph noticed her desire however, and taught her to ride. 

The O'Rogaighs had only 2 mares on their farm, both of whom were of the thickest, sturdiest type of drive. The older one had 2 foals over the course of her happy lifetime, and Sarah fell in love with the younger of the two, Claire, who was stubborn and stuck-up and difficult to tame—but not to mention the fastest horse for miles around.

Joseph said she was befitting of Sarah. She took no offence of course, and she asked him to teach her. Her own father was a drunk bore who had no interest in horses. He wouldn't teach her to ride if she paid him. 

Sarah was a fast learner, and within a few months rose to meet Claire as equal. Her grandmother said little about the state of her knees and elbows, presumably because she never shirked laundry or house-holding, of which Sarah was thankful. 

Every day Sarah took time to groom, calm, and care for Claire. She even grew to love her rather deeply. 

Joseph was proud of her—or perhaps of his own handiwork—and applauded her single-minded determination to break the steed in. 

And when Sarah's grandmother passed away, her grandfather told her to leave and take Claire with her. It wasn't with ill will that he said it, quite the contrary; Sarah believed that was his tight-lipped way of giving her his blessings.

Joseph had kissed her hands as she rode Claire to the little bit of land he had inherited from his Granfa. 

That was a beginning they had seen together. Joseph hadn't lived to see the second one.

Sarah had begun again the second time, alone. 

No one knew here knew any of that, of course. Nor did she want anyone to know; Joseph was hers, and hers alone.

Sharing had never been in her nature, and she was not surprised at her inclination to keep the memories of him locked away. He was her forever lad, and she wanted him to herself in a way that only she could enjoy the memories of them.

Steve was additionally too rowdy, too haughty, and too occupied with James to be concerned with a father he never had. Perhaps he would want to know someday about the man from whom he sprung - but that day, she was sure, was too far in the future to fathom. 

So she sat alone on a perfect Sunday afternoon, searing with the need to say goodbye, to say "I love you" one last time. She didn't want to go to the graveyard, and see his stone—death was closer and more cruel that way. She preferred to dream of his distorted, hazy, perfect figure as she looked out the window.

Her attention caught on a flash of golden locks. Shouting could be heard through the window pane. 

Her Steven was playing on the street below. He was holding a fat stick, tending to hit a baseball the Barnes boy was about to throw.

Steve yelled something provocative, a mischievous grin overtaking his features. 

James, obviously provoked, wound up for the pitch, and let rip.

Steve had good hand-to-eye coordination even if his respiratory system couldn't hope to match, and struck the ball with a short-pitched whack.

And, predictably, it hit James square on the forehead.

He collapsed as he hollered bloody murder, and Sarah sighed to herself as she rose from her chair, making her way down to the street. 

The two of them had an incredible talent for attracting trouble when they were together, and they never failed to make a fuss where there was none to be found. 

She emerged on the sidewalk. Her eyes widened, just a bit. 

Steve had dropped the stick and was planting a sloppy "get-better" kiss on James' lowered forehead. James sniffled a bit. 

Ridiculous, they are, she thought. James' face was already swelling, so she approached them briskly. 

"Hi, lad, you want me to take a look at that?" she asked softly. James' eyes flashed at her and he looked guilty, like he'd been caught red-handed, though Sarah couldn't imagine why. He nodded stiffly. Steve stepped to stand beside James, his hands buried in his overalls. 

"Ma's a real good nurse, Buck! Certifiably the best," he assured as Sarah bent over to get a better look.

"You're a nurse, Ms. Rogers?" James' eyes shone only very slightly as she pressed against the swell. 

"That's Mrs. Rogers to you, James. I work at the hospital, did Steven never mention?" Sarah straightened up and motioned for James to take her hand, which he did. She led the two of them back in, James holding her left hand and Steve holding her right. 

"No, never," James muttered as he threw a sideways glance at a very sheepish-looking Steve, who had only the decency to shrug. 

Sarah wondered what Steve told James about her. She wondered if he told him good things or bad things, or both. 

Steve trudged staunchly, light of breath. James tugged at Sarah's hand between the third and fourth floors to let Steve catch up.

Sarah smiled a little. James really was the friend Steve deserved. 

Once upstairs, Sarah set about applying the standard anti-inflammatory lotion and providing James with a big glass of water. She checked him for a concussion, just to make sure, but his head was fine.

"Alright, James, you're a lucky lad. Your forehead's a'swellin', and it'll hurt mighty tomorrow morning. Take an early night—your head needs it," she spoke lightly, professionally, "And you mighty want to think about not lettin' Steven provoke you too greatly." Steve huffed and frowned. James smiled brightly, white teeth showing. 

"Aw that's okay, Mrs. Rogers. I give as good as I get." Sarah chuckled and pushed them out the door. She watched them very closely as they toddled back down the stairs.

James placed an arm around Steve's shoulders and seemed to be assuring him it didn't hurt at all. He took Steve's hand and put his fingers to the bump. Steve let out a big breath and elbowed him gently in the ribs. 

Then they disappeared around the stair-bend. 

Sarah closed the door, and sat back down in Joseph's chair. Her eyes returned to the street, but her attention was focused on the pair of boys hurtling down it, yelling at the rope-skipping girls and black boys to have a look at James' forehead bump.

Everyone was duly impressed; James looked proud.

Steve stood a bit to the side, hiding his smile in his collar. 

She gripped the handles of the chair.

"He's a good son," she whispered to herself, to Joseph's lingering spectre. 

He would have been so proud of their boy.


End file.
